“I can explain,” said Duncan, though he really couldn’t. The other Surfer Dude put his finger to his lips and made a warning face. There would be no more coffeehousing, or
else.
Duncan returned to his tiles, hunching over them and refusing to meet Carl’s gaze. Carl angrily wrote on the pad of paper:
LOOK AT ME, DORFMAN!!!!!
But Duncan wouldn’t look. The rest of the game was spent in dreadful silence.
In the end, though, through a sudden, last-minute run of luck more than anything else (Carl picked the Q, and played it on QINTAR for 50 points), Drilling Falls beat the Surfer Dudes by four points.
But the Surfer Dudes would not go quietly. Jonno, the slightly bigger and more hulking of the two teammates, stood and loomed over the board. “Something’s fishy around here,” he said.
“No it isn’t,” said Carl.
“You did that thing in the darkness on the Lazy Swamp Ride,” Jonno said, pointing to Duncan. “You read those words on the wall, when no one could possibly have read them.”
“I have twenty-twenty vision,” Duncan said faintly. “I took an eye test recently.”
“It isn’t that,” said Bradley, the Surfer Dude with the hair that was slightly more greenish-gold. He leaned farther across the board, his face right in Duncan’s face. Duncan could smell his breath; it smelled of the sea, but not in a good way. “You did something with your
hand
,” said Bradley. “Your left hand. And I bet you’ve been cheating this whole time at the tournament.”
“That is not true!” shouted Duncan. Everyone turned and stared at him. There was a whole chorus of
shhh’s
, so strong it sounded like the leaves of two hundred trees rustling in a forest.
The Surfer Dudes refused to shake hands with Drilling Falls. Instead, they stormed off, heading to the front of the room. Duncan watched from afar as the Surfer Dudes spoke to the tournament director Dave Hopper, using wild gestures. They pointed toward Duncan, and then, to demonstrate, Jonno reached out his hand toward an imaginary wall, feeling it as if he could read letters on it. Dave Hopper appeared puzzled by the pantomime, and within seconds he ended the conversation with the Surfer Dudes. The boys looked furious.
But the Surfer Dudes weren’t the only ones furious with Duncan Dorfman. On his way out of the ballroom, Duncan felt a hard shove against his back that made him stagger forward. He turned around to face Carl, who grabbed him by the front of his Drilling Falls Scrabble Team T-shirt.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Carl said.
“What do you mean?”
“I know you didn’t really use your fingertips.”
“The Surfer Dudes think I did. But look, we won anyway,” Duncan tried.
“We
barely
won, Dorfman,” said Carl, coming so close that Duncan could see the individual pores of Carl’s face. “We could have
easily
lost that game. And then we would have had almost no chance of making it to the finals. I brought you all the way down here to
win
, and now look at you! I ought to punch your lights out. I ought to rearrange your nose and your eyeballs, make you look like a
Picasso
painting—”
“Whoa, whoa,” said Nate Saviano, who’d strode over. He was holding up his skateboard like a shield, or a weapon. “What’s going on?”
“My partner needs some straightening out,” Carl muttered.
“I don’t think Duncan needs anything at all,” said Nate, and Carl backed down, then slunk off. Nate turned to Duncan and said, “You lost? Is that why he’s so steamed?”
“No,” said Duncan. “We won.”
“Huh. Go figure,” said Nate.
Duncan took a few seconds to calm down, and then the boys walked out of the ballroom together. “How did you and Maxie do, by the way?” Duncan asked.
“We won, too. So I guess we’re all still in this thing.”
“You don’t look happy about it.”
“I’m not,” Nate admitted. “I just want out.”
Players had begun to flood out of the ballroom, their games over. Everything was starting to sort itself out now, and the teams that had won all of their games knew they had a serious chance to go to the finals. A few kids were talking about how the Word Gurrrls from Minnesota—giggling Jessica and Tania, with the cat’s-eye eyeglasses—remained undefeated.
Almost everyone else knew that no matter what happened in the fifth and sixth games, they weren’t going to go all the way. But it didn’t matter. Most of them were having an excellent time. Some were still curious to see where they would rank. Some couldn’t care less about the rankings or standings. Almost all of the players were looking forward to the grand finale of the weekend: watching the final round on a huge screen, with live commentary by sports announcer Bill Preston of
Thwap!
TV.
Round five would begin right after lunch, followed by round six, the critical round—the semifinals, really, though it wasn’t officially called that. Now everyone in the group of friends except Carl was sitting together again at a table outside on the patio.
“What’s with you and your partner?” Lucy asked Duncan. “It looked like you two were having a fight in there.” Duncan told her he didn’t want to talk about it.
All of them were quiet as they ate, sinking into seriousness and contemplating their fates. The Oregonzos, the Drilling Falls team, and the Big Apple Duo remained undefeated. The Evangelical Scrabblers were down by one, and still had a remote shot at actually winning the whole event. If Josh and Kaylie were to win games five and six by good spreads, and if they happened to beat an undefeated team in the semifinals, they could go to the finals and win. Unlikely, but not impossible.
The outcome of the tournament was almost too overwhelming for any of them to think about, so instead they all just ate their sandwiches and looked out at the ocean.
“Gorgeous day,” said Lucy.
“Yeah, great weather,” said Maxie. “I hear it’s snowing in New York. Glad I’m not there. Bad skateboard weather.”
None of them cared about the weather right now, but they jabbered about it until there was nothing left to say. Then they fell into an excruciating silence.
The gong sounded at shortly before 2:00 P.M., and all the kids returned to the ballroom. This time, not all of them ran inside; some took their time. Duncan moved as slowly as possible, dragging his leg with the bad knee. Though the tension was high, and the possibility that his team might win excited him, he was in no hurry to be back in the ballroom sitting beside Carl, who had begun to hate his guts.
The fifth game, played against Timed Fury, a team of two tall, quiet boys from New Jersey, went by quickly. It was as if someone else was playing the game, and Duncan was watching from a distance. Carl turned and stared as Duncan reached his hand in and out of the bag mechanically.
How could he explain to Carl why he did what he did during the last game? Why he hadn’t used his fingertips when he really ought to have? Carl would never understand. Carl seemed to have no moral dilemmas or ambivalence or regret about
anything.
He wanted what he wanted, and usually he got it, too.
Maybe, Duncan thought unhappily, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to be someone like Carl Slater. At least you could enjoy your life.
Duncan and Carl won game five cleanly, swiftly and without tricks, 382–290. There had been a couple of unexciting bingos on both sides. Each team had picked two S’s, and the power tiles had been pretty evenly distributed, too. But Drilling Falls had simply thought through their moves more carefully, and so they had won in the end.
As the boys shook hands across the board, Duncan felt mostly numb. He and Carl would be among the teams who still had a chance to go all the way. But this fact alone wasn’t enough to make Carl behave any less hostilely toward him. In fact, it only seemed to infuriate Carl even more.
During the break between games five and six, the kids wandered the atrium, and though some of them were so excited they could barely keep it in, Duncan barely felt like speaking. Soon the list was up, and everyone learned who the other top contenders were, and what the pairings would be in the sixth game.
Drilling Falls was going to play the Big Apple Duo, and the Oregonzos would play the Word Gurrrls.
The final moments before round six might have given Duncan a chance to think about what a great job he and Carl had done so far, and how it would feel to play this important game against his friends Nate and Maxie. But instead he simply felt sick with worry. He should never have agreed to come here. Carl should have come with Brian Kalb again, and Duncan should have stayed home at his great-aunt’s house. But it was much too late to do anything about it now.
When round six was about to begin, Carl walked over to the table in the ballroom with absolutely no expression on his face. He sat down next to Duncan and busied himself lining up fresh pencils beside the score sheet.
“So you’re giving me the silent treatment?” asked Duncan. Carl didn’t even look at him. “Yep, I guess there’s my answer,” Duncan said. “Well, at least we’re in no danger of being yelled at for coffeehousing.” Carl still said nothing.
“Oh, that’s really mature, Carl,” said Nate, who had taken his place with Maxie across the board.
Carl Slater looked up and said, “You have no idea what you’re dealing with here, Nate, so maybe you should stay out of it.” He paused. “Anyway, what do you know? You’re just some grungy
skateboarder.
That’s all you both are, you and Maxie.”
“And you’re just some bully,” said Maxie. “We have those in New York, too. You guys are everywhere. It’s an epidemic. We’re going to need a v
accine
.”
Carl folded his arms and leaned across the board. “Nate; Maxie. Look. I was just spouting off. I’ve got no problem with you two. But Duncan made a promise to me, and he knows it.”
Nate looked directly at Carl. “No, you’re right about me, Carl,” he said.
“What?”
Nate pushed back in his chair and stood up. “I
am
just some grungy skateboarder,” he said. “That’s what I want to be. I never wanted
this.
And you know what? I am through,” he said. He handed the pencil and pad to Maxie. “You’re on your own.”
Other kids began to notice what was happening at one of the semifinal tables; there was whispering around the room.
“What are you doing, Nate?” Maxie asked.
Over the loudspeaker, Dave Hopper announced, “You may begin.”
Maxie frantically reached into the bag and pulled out a tile. “Look, Nate, we got a B,” she said. “It’s a good start!” Immediately, Carl reached in and drew an S. The Big Apple Duo would go first in this game.
Maxie reached back into the bag and drew all the tiles for their team. Carl slammed his hand down on the timer, and they all watched as seconds began to fall away from Nate and Maxie’s side. But Nate didn’t seem to care. He was still standing there, ignoring the clock, ignoring the tiles, and he didn’t appear to be kidding around.
“I’m sorry, Maxie,” he said. “I just can’t do it anymore. I shouldn’t have dragged you down here.”
“You didn’t drag me. I wanted to come. I like you, Nate,” she blurted out. “I liked hanging out last year. When you left school, I was really bummed.”
“Me too,” he said. “This year has been horrible. I didn’t want to be in this tournament. So I’m sending a message to my dad right now.” He glanced around the room. “Even though I don’t see him at the moment,” he added.
“What message?”
“Basically: ‘Too bad, sucker, you lost again!’” Then, more softly, Nate said, “See you, Maxie,” and he picked up his skateboard and left.
The three remaining kids sat at the table, shocked. Other kids looked over, surprised and confused, but then quickly returned to their own games.
“What am I going to do?” said Maxie Roth to Duncan and Carl. “I’m not a real Scrabble player. I’m just a grungy skateboarder, too, like Carl said. I can’t play this game alone.” Before they could reply, Maxie stood up and grabbed her own skateboard. “See you guys,” she said. “It’s been real.”
Duncan watched the back of her magenta head go away, and the tip of her pink skateboard. Everything about her was unusual and different. And everything about
me
, he thought, is hopeless. Beside him, Carl Slater was staring at Duncan in fury through tiny eye slits.
“So what do we do now?” Duncan asked.
“What do you think we do, Dorfman? We turn cartwheels across the table. We churn our own butter. No, we
sit here
, and we wait for their clock to run down, and for them to forfeit the game because of time. And then we win. Which is the only way that would be certain to happen,” he added in disgust, “with
you
as a partner.”
“But shouldn’t we say something to someone? I mean, I don’t know what the rules are if your opponent walks away.”
“Don’t you dare get up or say a word,” said Carl. “Do what you’ve been doing your whole life, Dorfman:
Just. Do. Nothing
.”
Outside, in the heat of the day, Nate Saviano got on his skateboard. After a moment he heard shouting in the distance, and he turned to see someone coming toward him. It was Maxie, who cruised up to him on her board. Nate had a feeling she was going to start sobbing and begging him to come back inside the ballroom. They got off their boards and faced each other.
But what she said to him was, “OF ALL THE SELFISH THINGS IN THE WORLD TO DO!”
Nate was startled, because he was usually the one who shouted at other people—at least, he shouted at his father. He was not used to anyone shouting at him. “Selfish?” he said. “How was that selfish?”
“Because we’re a team,” she said. “You act like it’s just you. But, like, HELLO? I’m here, too, Nate. I am your TEAMMATE. This isn’t just about you; it also happens to be about me. Do you know that my mom and dad had to scramble to get the money so we could come down here? And I made all my friends at school practice Scrabble with me every day in the month before I came. I put down the skateboard and picked up a
Scrabble
board. I never got good enough to play at this high level on my own, but that’s the thing: I knew I was on a TEAM. So fine, if you want to quit the tournament, I can’t stop you. I care about how I play. I care about this tournament, okay, Nate? I know I’m not great at the making-words part—I don’t know every single one of my twos yet, I don’t know how to make a decent bingo—but I’m quick at the math part. And I was really into this whole thing, and now you’ve ruined it! You know what? I wish you’d never come back to the skate park this fall.”